How I Remember IKEA

Went back to my former workplace after school today. Until now, why I left a job offering such flexibility and decent pay, with good friends (okay maybe not since most left) remains much an enigma. The following is how I remember the place.

A certain kind of smell greets you when you enter the building. Co-workers would agree with me. I can't exactly place an origin to it, nor describe the smell. One just has to be there to experience it for himself. It's the sort of smell that used to welcome me every weekend. It's a reassuring kind of smell that embraces me, that brings about a sense of familiarity. The smell is how I remember IKEA.

IKEA is (almost) always a calming place. It could be attributed to the music the management plays, the homely feeling one gets from their very interactive show pieces, or just some unknown spell cast over the place to bring it tranquility. Even on crowded days like a public holiday or a Sunday, there appears to be a soothing force field cloaking the entire place. The serenity is how I remember IKEA.

I've made several friends at IKEA. I especially love it when I get paired next to a cash terminal with someone I know better. The endless banter and sometimes teasing, or simply just the presence of a friend just make the time go a little bit faster. I love how the co-workers would occasionally steal glances at each other over the counters, and give encouraging (or sometimes pitiful, in the ill-fortune of serving a difficult customer) smiles. Co-workers are how I remember IKEA.

BILLY. GOSIG. MICKE. KARDEMUMMA. TORVA. CHOSIGT. These seemingly foreign words are brands of some of the products at the store. I used to be so well-versed with the items that I know the prices and article numbers (product codes) for certain popular items without first looking them up. The products are how I remember IKEA.

I always thought IKEA food were inexpensive. They were. That was until until I got access to the staff restaurant. The food was simply cheap. The same fare at the regular IKEA restaurant could have cost up to three times more. As such, meatballs for lunch became very much a staple on working days. The food is how I remember IKEA.

Showering facilities. Staff discounts. Staff outings. Department outings. Regular hot-dogs, drinks, and ice-cream treats from the bistro. The frequent sneaks into the cash office for tidbits and a drink. Free food on certain holidays. Reimbursement of taxi fares. The little gestures and staff welfare are how I remember IKEA.

Her petite frame. Her confidence. Her horrible horrible eye-bags. Her forever tired-looking face. The way she sometimes braid her hair. The muffin she adores. Her locker. The carrot soft toy she finds cute. She is how I remember IKEA.

A Desperate Attempt to Keep This Alive

My life has been so stagnant these days, if it was in liquid form, it'd have bred mozzies.

Inactivity

Here it ceases.

Ace of Hearts

Just stumbled across a blog with fantastic writing.

Every time something like that happens, I couldn't help but feel a little deflated. Like air being slowly let out of a balloon. Not absolute depression, but just a sad mix of disappointment and upset with a brush of envy.

It's like perhaps what I pride myself on the most is merely a blade of someone else's Swiss army knife with 132944979486218 extensions.

And I don't even have to console myself with all those 'different styles in writing' reasons. There is just no way any form of writing of mine will ever be as good as some of the ones I read.

It doesn't matter if you have a strong hand, the Spades are lurking out there.

The Emulsion

Inspired from a friend's.

They longed to merge, hopeful for the other's eye contact whenever they brisk past. Her smile, a brush of rainbow in his world of negatives. The imprisonment of time and negation of space when their eyes lock only serve as acknowledgement of the other's presence and desire. He'd love to talk to her, but lack of assurance muted his courage. He so adores that smile of hers. One that sheds light to a million dark places in his heart.

And for reasons withheld, she stopped smiling altogether.

He'll have none of it. He needs to see that magnificent arc again. The only thing that perhaps holds equal or greater beauty than the girl herself.

April 13

Foreword: This was written ink to paper between 4 cups of heavily caffeinated beverages at Starbucks, after a night deprived of sleep; and may result in extremities to my already very biased writing. I apologize in advance.

So, yesterday was the 21st birthday of one of the greatest person who has ever lived, Seah Jun Ru. I have friends, and then I have him. It's not every day one meets a mate like him, who does ridiculous things with, and for, me. All I can say is my mere words and limited arsenal of vocabulary will only serve to do utmost injustice to his greatness, so I'd just like to thank him for being friends with me way back in Secondary 2. And for being there. All the time. Despite both of us pursuing different paths academically, and him having already served NS, we still remain in close contact, and I'm eternally grateful for that. Fuck, I sounded like a girl there.

Anyway, he hosted the big day in a suite at Marina Bay Sands, courtesy of one of his army mates, and boy, it was grand. It was my virgin visit to the place, and magnificent was the word.

Also, as a group of friends and I were in the lift up to the sky park, I spotted this rather hot girl with what appeared to be her family. "They must be French," I muttered to my friends in Mandarin. I then proceeded to 'Parlez-vous Francais-ed' out loud in the lift, and the Dad actually went 'Huh?' before Hot Girl intervened and told him it was French. It was an epic moment that got everyone inside laughing, and I should have gotten to know her better. Oh well.

The sleepless encounter involved me starring out of the ceiling high window for the stunning view only the night could have provided, and my mind went to her with almost every twinkle of a star. I wanted to read my text-message conversation of her, but sadly I don't have a single one from her.

Written on 14 April, at approximately 0900-0930.

For the Buddy

If a 5.36 a.m. post helps, then please get better. You'll still have to plan for my funeral, I will take no other.